Fire In The Blood
by MRHolliday
Summary: Update: No idea where to go with this after the end of season 2. Lol ... Original note: Again, My first try at fanfiction. Based on Red/ Lizzie, Lizzington fan. The reviews have been wonderful, really keeps me thinking about getting back to this! Don't give up on me! ;)
1. Chapter 1 - Germany

CHAPTER 1

The inside of his hotel room was dark and quiet. He had slept hard and dreamlessly, wrapped tightly in a sheet and blanket, still wearing soiled clothing from the night before. His grey wool overcoat was hanging from a hook on the wall with his muddy pair of winter boots placed neatly on the floor beneath. Down the hall, a housekeeper was moving slowly from room to room. Listening to the movements he awoke slowly, hearing the soft shuffle as the cleaning cart was pushed along onto another room, the sound of a door shutting behind it.

Red's eyes were wide open now, though he hadn't yet moved a muscle. His mind was still hazy with sleep, but in a quick moment he remembered where he was. Potsdam, Germany. Damn, he cursed softly, frowning. He glanced at the night table and, unfurling an arm out from under the covers, passed over a bottle of whiskey and fumbled for his watch, squinting at its face. It was just after seven a.m. Surprised he had slept so late, he rolled over carefully and sat up, reaching for the small laptop under the edge of the bed as he stood. Retrieving the whiskey bottle from the night table, he made his way into the bathroom.

Opening the laptop, he powered it up by the sink as he looked into his own eyes in the mirror, squinting as he assessed himself for visible injuries on his face. Satisfied, he carefully pulled off his dark sweater, shirt, and undershirt all at once, wincing in pain despite the care he took. A dark bruise appeared low on the left side of his chest, and he felt carefully along his ribs. In his experience, the greater the pain, the greater the likelihood that his ribs were bruised and not broken. Bruised, he concluded, as he leaned and looked closer in the mirror, further down along his side. The bandage he'd taped there was dried with a fair amount of blood, though not sufficient enough to be a cause for alarm. Carefully, he pulled the tape and bandage away, wincing again. Reaching in to the shower, he turned on the water, letting it run hot before he stripped and stepped in. The water felt good against his bruised body, and he was in no hurry as he scrubbed himself clean.

Once out of the shower, a towel folded around his waist, he glanced at the computer screen and hit another key to establish a satellite connection, knowing it would take time. It was worth the time; the various protocols in place would conceal his whereabouts. He shaved conscientiously, then sat down and turned the computer screen in his direction as he busied himself pulling out several items from his toiletries bag: cotton balls, gauze bandages, surgical tape. Having no disinfectant remaining, he poured the whiskey over the knife wound and gritted his teeth as it burned.

The laptop lit up in the corner of his eye and he tapped a few keys to retrieve messages. He studied the wound for a moment, and grimaced as he collected the needed items to stitch himself up. It took only a few stitches, and his inspection didn't reveal the wound to be substantially deep. He bandaged himself up well, loaded the articles back into the small bag, and walked with the laptop back into the main room.

The news was not encouraging. Things were happening fast, and his current window of opportunity was quickly closing. The latest information from his sources placed Elizabeth Keen traveling to Leipzig with the search for her on at this moment, although the focus appeared to be incorrectly focused in Prague. A cryptic message from Dembe indicated he'd need to contact him sooner rather than later. He shut the laptop off and cursed softly under his breath again. She was alone, completely on her own, and this thought troubled him most of all. Time was now of the essence. He needed to find her immediately and get her out of the area and back into the States as quickly as possible. In the back of his mind, he was working the puzzle of their exit out, not allowing himself to consider the possibility that he would fail to locate her first.

Red had to stop and remind himself from time to time that Lizzie, even alone, was more than capable of handling herself. Quick on her feet, she acted with intelligence and efficiency, adapting to changing situations with startling ease. It was his own fear that made him uneasy. His connection to her was, very often, all he had left of real worth to him. There was so very much left to be done, and so very, very much to be said; to share with her. His real fear was losing her to an unseen hand at work. How ironic; as it was usually he who was, so often, that very unseen hand.

Shutting off the laptop and moving now with a sense of purpose, he dressed quickly, buttoning up one of his typically finely tailored dress shirts paired with a stylishly matched silk tie. The pair of denim jeans, atypical for his preferred style of dress, followed, then wool socks and his boots, quickly cleaned of dried mud. He removed the empty holster from his belt before he slipped it on and then retrieved the small Ruger LC9 from under his pillow, thumbing the safety back on. Fastening it into the holster securely, he then wrapped the holstered weapon in his soiled shirt from the day before and deposited it into the tourist backpack along with his small laptop and toiletries bag. He covered the items with the dark sweater. The backpack was light, and it didn't appear full, which was what he wanted.

He slipped on his navy suit jacket, checking that his wallet and passports remained safely tucked into the inner breast pocket and found the emergency burner cell phone still in the side pocket. He folded his remaining items into his duffel bag with his extra clothing and, at the sound of the housekeeper moving into another room, he opened the door quietly as he pulled on his wool overcoat and scarf, his fedora dropping onto his head. With the tourist backpack over one shoulder and the duffel bag in hand; he disappeared quickly down the hallway.

The hotel had been quiet and warm inside but he felt more at home out on the frigid street. Every step forward was a step closer to her. He pulled his overcoat collar up on his neck and blew into his cupped hands, glancing casually up and down the street as he pulled out a cigarette to light, inhaling and exhaling slowly before taking out his gloves and pulling them on. Personally, he didn't care for cigarette's, but it was a useful tool to survey his surroundings at leisure, with an air of nonchalance. Red started down the street, a light snow crunching under his boots as his eyes moved attentively, taking in everything as walked and smoked, opting for the leisurely route with his pace purposefully unhurried.

Once he felt satisfied there were no immediate eyes on him, he hailed a taxi to the train station and stepped across the street and into a sidewalk café. He ordered a coffee at the counter, effortlessly lifting a fellow patron's cell phone. He stepped outside, coffee in hand, and dialed as he walked.

"My friend, you have a message for me?", he listened carefully to the sparse words. There was now a known location for her; Leipzig, with an appointment scheduled at Leipzig University for the lunch hour. Red glanced at his watch, estimating he could be there well before. "On my way now. As for later, I was thinking Amsterdam. I'll be in touch. Thank you, my friend."

He slipped the battery out of the stolen cell phone, lighting a second cigarette as his boot heel crushed the remains of the phone he'd already snapped in half. He exhaled smoke and scattered the pieces as he walked along, looking for all the world like nothing more than a German business man just off the train, pausing for a coffee and a smoke.

One of the car rentals counters adjacent to the train station was next, and by half past eight he was driving out of Potsdam, in a rather nice German automobile, setting a solid pace to intercept Lizzie.


	2. Chapter 2 - Leipzig

**CHAPTER 2**

Elizabeth Keen had followed the directions precisely to the office of Professor Ulrich Weisman at the Leipzig University, but to no avail. The proper building was easy enough to locate but the long hallway leading to the end, to his office at #10-861, housed a study room turned over to the use of students. That was all. Her German was certainly not adequate enough to inquire discreetly, not without drawing attention to herself as an American. And, as this didn't strike her as a prudent course of action, she exited quietly.

Throughout the day, she had been plagued by a deeper sense of something being amiss. She had to consciously remind herself to refrain from looking over her shoulder as there was no reason to suspect she was being watched or followed. She shrugged it off as simply a feeling she'd grown accustomed to because she'd felt it, accurately as it turned out, for so long.

The variety of people along the street was charming and there was a great deal of activity in the area. It was far more populated than she had anticipated and it was clear that a festival of some technological sort was being prepped for; with assorted sizes of booths and stages being erected along Universitätsstraße. Students, professors, workers, and business professionals alike walked up and down the boulevards around the University, enjoying themselves in cafes and restaurants. The atmosphere was energetic and jovial and it was contagious to her; she smiled as she strolled, unhurried.

After a time, she stopped in the busy Cafe Barbakane for lunch and coffee, immediately being taken in by the beauty of the old place. She was surprised that the weather could be so crisp, but just enough on the warm side this time of year that spring was showing itself. It was certainly mild compared to Washington, D.C. Healthy green vines grew colorfully over old brick stonework; an interesting study in contrasts as the 142.5 meter City-Hochhaus Leipzig building hovered above in the sky.

Behind her, a gorgeous park stretched for some distance and, though she could hear the sound of traffic, no roadway was visible through the early spring showing green on the trees in the park. The server had assessed her as an American and had kindly brought her an English language newspaper to browse though. Skipping the heavy news, she went right to the book reviews in the entertainment section. Settling in and relaxing, she immensely enjoyed her delicious meal. It occurred to her Red was right; she needed to take more time to enjoy the moments of life. Forever rushing into the next task did indeed seem to rob her of enjoying the present, and she was discovering she rather liked the present. The deluge of problems plaguing her life lately sometimes seemed too much to bear, but here she sat, still herself. Still capable, still pressing on, and yes; laughing at herself.

After lunch, she called and left a message for Professor Weisman, unconcerned about the absence of his office but hoping to still have the opportunity to speak with him during her visit. She had met him in her fourth year at Quantico and had followed his papers since, being interested in his theories of profiling. He was an older gentleman, having been raised in communist-era East Germany, which made his perspective both unique and challenging.

She strolled along Schillerstraße, heading towards the Pleissenburg, a 13th century building rich with history. It was now a Town Hall, but it was the architecture she wished to see most. Crossing to Markgrafenstraße, she became aware of an elevated sound of noise behind her, eventually pausing and turning to glance back as several official police vehicles pulled into the area behind her, towards the main festival area.

Continuing on her way with a shrug, she'd walked another several meters and then hit the ground instinctively; an ear-splitting noise bursting forth from a fierce concussion blast behind her. Another reverberating concussion occurred almost immediately as she moved instantly to the closest cover available; the frame of a brick entry door among the shoppes. Dust and debris hurtled past, hitting parked cars and shattering windows, her hand closed on the door handle behind her but it was stoutly locked. Her eyes searched for a safer place in unfamiliar territory.

The surroundings had turned into complete chaos in mere moments; the air infused with the acrid odor of fumes and fire. Sirens were screaming as pieces of festival banners and plywood rained down on the street. Yells and screams filled the air and it quickly became impossible to separate the noises one from the other; until she heard the staccato of gunfire shots ringing out. Her attention rose to that above all else and her hand went instinctively to her holster and returned empty. She was traveling as a tourist, without a weapon.

People began to frantically race past, expressions of terror on their faces. She stood taller and tucked back into the recessed doorway, waiting for the debris to cease falling before she slipped into a run, the intention being to separate herself from the mob as expeditiously as possible. However, a man running past grabbed her, yelling at her in indecipherable German, pulling her out of her precarious safety. Now, having great difficulty staying on her feet, she was forced to begin running or face being trampled. Somewhere deep within, she wanted to yell out for help, and only later, oddly, would she realize whom she had thought of in these circumstances.

Gunfire sounded out again, and the crowd surged powerfully; it was all she could do to stay in the stream of fleeing people. Burgplatz was ahead, she remembered from her map, a plaza that branched off into several different directions. Expertly, she scanned for a thinning point in the crowd as she ran but no path was open for her to disengage. She would find one, and she paused, minutely, and the fleeing mob knocked her about haphazardly; each hit brought her closer to losing both her speed and footing, bringing her closer to being thrown to the ground.

A hard hit connected with her head, dazing her as her arms desperately swung out to steady herself, feeling and dreading the loss of her balance as it was happening; in excruciatingly slow motion. Inevitably, she went down to one knee when, to her absolute astonishment, an iron grip closed around her arm, just above the elbow, and held her steady.

Her eyes shot in surprise, looking to the strong hand locked fast to her but she was unable to see further. Quickly, she used the leverage of this strong, steadfast grip and raised herself to her feet. She was pulled firmly into a protective circle; the crowd colliding violently against her sudden protector from behind. She clutched to the lapel of the wool overcoat, unable now to see from her left eye. The coat wrapped around her from the side along with a firm, guiding arm. She hunkered in and moved in response as a fleeting sense of a familiar aroma touched her and then was gone.

And then, as quickly as it had began, it was over. She was free of the crowd and being held up in a standing position, her back against a wall. She heard a strong voice shouting over the immense noise and chaos, "Are you hurt?"

The sense of familiarity touched her fleetingly once more. Her eyes were wet and she could not see; the metallic smell of blood was thick in her nostrils. It was hers, she knew, and panic was quickly rising up within her and taking a grip on her. She tried to push the fear back even as this unknown rescuer pushed her hands away from her face, her eyes being wiped at with a cloth.

The question was shouted at her again, demanding an answer, "Are you hurt?" She could not focus, sightlessness was consuming her and her hands went automatically to her eyes again only to be blocked once more.

"Don't think about your eyes," the shouted instructions were firm, demanding, "Take stock of your body, feel your legs, feel your arms, your abdomen. Are you badly hurt?" The sense of familiarity multiplied her confusion but she followed the sensible order, taking stock mentally; and as she began to nod the voice shouted at her again, this time stark with fear, "_For God's sake, Lizzie, answer me!"_

Instantly, relief washed over her and she simply collapsed completely into Raymond Reddington, clutching to him desperately, unabashedly. He blinked in surprise, a pause; and then his eyes slid shut as he felt the cascade of relief himself, his arms wrapping tightly around her. Feeling the closeness of her as she breathed against him, every moment of difficulty in locating her evaporated. She was safe now, and he would be certain she stayed safe. Continuing to hold her tightly, he spared a hand to reach up, covering her eyelids with his fingers. "Don't open your eyes yet."

She held onto him even more tightly, melting further into the safety and warmth of him. They stood there, together, for some time, simply clutching to each other. He moved his head slightly, whispering reassurances into her ear.

"Don't let go," she whispered back faintly, a touchingly rare glimpse of vulnerability from her that gave him an ache deep inside.

"I'm not letting go, Lizzie. I'm right here, I'm not letting go." And the sound of his voice, a hoarse whisper in her ear, was the most welcome sound she could ever recall hearing. He could have stood there indefinitely with his Lizzie in his arms, but eventually the concern for her eyes restored him to action.

"Lizzie, lean your head back," he instructed her, leaning back to look at her, keeping her close against him as he used saliva on his handkerchief to continue once more to wipe blood from her eyes.

"You have quite a nasty cut on your head," he paused, ripping the cloth in half, and took her hand, closing her fingers around one portion and guiding it to her head, "here, hold that there and apply pressure." After another moment he studied his work briefly and, satisfied, said, "There, try opening your eyes now."

Opening her eyes, blinking, she saw his anxious expression in anticipation of her response.

"I can see. I'm alright," she said, flashing a smile that went perfectly with those liquid blue eyes of hers.

Red exhaled, nodding in reply, his eyes glancing protectively in each direction as he put his arms back around her, then leaned in and kissed each eyelid gently, "To _my great and everlasting relief."_

Slowly, she began to restore some of the usual appropriate distance between them. He stepped back slightly, shaking his head with a smile, "My God, but you are a difficult woman to locate." She frowned, and he could see the questions already forming in her mind and moving to her lips.

"I really _must insist_ we address questions later," he gestured at the general mayhem around him, "This is certainly not the ideal place to be at the moment." Her reply was an emphatic nod of agreement, her eyes still gleaming with a smile at him.

"I have a car nearby. How's your German?", she shook her head in the negative, her frown wrinkle deepening.

"That _bad_? Then allow me to do the talking for the both of us. You just-"

"Look like a damsel in distress?"

He chuckled at the irony as she was anything but; a small smile tugged at his mouth. "Yes, try that."

"Maybe we need to go to the American consulate-" his glance stopped her mid-sentence.

"Your naiveté is, as ever, charming. Come along, we're this way. And for Heaven's sake, do stay close to me."


	3. Chapter 3 - En Route Hanover

**CHAPTER 3**

Once back to his rental car, they quickly climbed in and he paused at length, gazing at her intensely. She glanced at him and found his expression disconcerting but as unreadable as usual. She had a whirlwind of questions ready to spill forth, but she waited instead, trying to keep the grin off of her face. It was so very, _very _good to see him.

Red was quiet, not his usual behavior, and he seemed suddenly pensive. "I'm having a rare emotional moment, Lizzie," he confessed, "let me just say I'm _immeasurably _relieved to have you safe with me," he reached over, his hand closing warmly over hers.

She squeezed his hand, her other hand clasping the top of his with a rub against his warm, smooth skin. His eyebrow shot up at the electricity in her touch, never ceasing to be astonished by these sudden, unexpected revelations of the strength of his attraction to her. He'd been aware of this previously, of course. Lizzie was an exceptional woman; beautiful, vibrant, engaging, intelligent; her unpredictable nature challenging, to say the least. It was quite natural to be attracted to her; but to this degree? She would no doubt find it an egregious breach of etiquette. Lizzie watched him and noted that he seemed a million miles away in the moment.

"Hey, where'd you go?" she asked, and he returned his eyes to hers. He gave no verbal response for a moment though he was aware that his micro-expression, his tell; the small twitch under his eye, had flashed involuntarily.

"Nowhere, Lizzie sweetheart, I'm right here," he reassured her softly as he pulled out the ignition keys.

"Do you know what happened out there?" she asked, "the explosion? The gunfire?"

"Yes, I heard it all, too, " he frowned slightly, "you're not asking if_ I_ had something to do with... with _that_?"

She shrugged, then gave a quick nod in the affirmative.

"No, of course not! It's terrible, just _horrific _to see relatively innocent people being maimed and killed arbitrarily. It's certainly not_ my_ doing... why, it's not even my _style._ Surely you must know this by now? I prefer my dealings face to face."

"You're here just for me?"

"Yes, of course. You sound surprised and yet you should not be so in the least," he paused for a moment, reluctantly removing his hand from hers to start the engine, "where else would I be? You were in danger and here I am, as promised. I keep my promises, Lizzie. Now, tell me the name of your lodgings. Time is of the essence."

"I'm at the Marriott."

He rolled his eyes, "You're_ joking,_ right? Please tell me you're joking."

"No joke, it's the Marriott. And Red?"

"Yes, Lizzie?"

_"Thank you for being here,"_ she said, reaching out and placing her hand on his arm. He nodded, accepting the gratitude.

"You're most welcome. As always, I'm at your service. But, honestly, do you mean to tell me that you traveled all the way to Europe, to _Germany_, to another culture _entirely_, and you stayed in an _American_ hotel? Tell me you did _n_ot order a cheeseburger. Lie to me if you must, I can't bear it."

"I thought time was of the essence?"

"Correct. Do you need to go back to your hotel for anything?"

"I left my suitcase there... clothes, laptop, that sort of thing."

"Passport?"

"It's in the room safe." He had the vehicle in gear before she finished speaking.

"Direct me," he instructed, pulling out onto the street.

* * *

In five minutes, he pulled the car into a street parking space outside of her hotel, looking up at it through the windshield with distaste.

"We need to make this fast, please, I need your room and safe key."

"I'll go up with you."

"Dear, I don't have time to explain but suffice it to say there are unsavory characters looking for you and we want to be sure that they continue to fail."

"So you're going to leave me _alone_ in a car?" She scowled openly at him. He ignored her protest and reached behind her seat to remove his overcoat from the floor, tossing it onto the backseat and pulling the previously concealed tourist backpack from the floor and passed it to her. He held out his hand for the requested keys.

"Snappy little thing, nine millimeter, eight shots, two extra clips. If you have to use it, keep a steady hand to keep the nose down for follow up shots. Keep your head down, I'll be right back."

In less than ten minutes, he tapped at the window for her to unlock the car. Dropping her items into the backseat, he handed her passport over and climbed back in, placing a small paper bag onto the passenger floor. He pulled promptly into the street, silencing the question on her lips with a hand gesture and a quick glance into the rearview mirror. He was watching for a tail.

"Lizzie, quickly, disable any possible tracking on your laptop and any another... whatnots."

"You mean peripherals?', she chuckled and turned to her suitcase in the backseat, pulling out the laptop as she reached into her pocket for her cell phone. "My cell phone, it's gone-"

"And trampled to bits back in Burgplatz, my dear. Along with myself, I'm afraid. My neck is just killing me."

She tapped his shoulder and held out two aspirin to him, a bottle of water waiting for him in the other hand; her eyes on the laptop balanced on her knee. He popped the aspirin into his mouth and took the water; glancing at her as he drove, her free hands now turned immediately to her task. Downing the bottle of water, he tossed it behind him, his eyes continually going back to her, observing as he drove. After a few minutes he reached over, disturbing her task; his hand brushed along the side of her face as he took a firm hold of her head, his fingers threading into her hair as he tilted her head to the side, studying her forehead injury. She opened her mouth to protest but was too startled to formulate words. His touch was both gentle and demanding; observational and somehow intimate; the feel of the contact taking her completely off-guard.

"You should take some of those, too. You're going to have a _monster _of a headache soon," he said, referring to the aspirin, and released her. She could still feel his touch, his fingers in her hair, and she found it difficult to shake off the hypnotic effect.

"I already did, and already do."

"Oh," he remarked lightly, "you're handling it well. I'm a _bear _with a headache. In the bag there, I picked up some antiseptic. Gauze and bandages in the duffel bag in the back."

"Where are we going?"

"Hanover. Two hours drive, I should think," he pointed down to the floor sternly, "Laptop, then antiseptic."

* * *

She dozed off soon after cleaning and bandaging her head, curled up in his wool overcoat, and he let her sleep. He stopped about twenty minutes outside of Hanover, pulling over to a bakery and returning with hot beverages and food.

He leaned over towards her and shook her gently, whispering, "Lizzie, sweetheart, time to wake up." She stirred, pleased to hear his voice, to feel his nearness to her. She opened her eyes and he smiled his soft smile that seemed reserved especially for her, "Ah, there she is."

"Where are we?" she whispered drowsily.

"Oh, just outside of Hanover. Far from home but perfectly safe. Are you hungry? I brought you some Brötchen and tea."

"What is Brötchen?"

"Excellent pronunciation," he noted encouragingly, "it's a German breakfast roll, crusty on the outside. Sit up, eat. Here's your tea," he handed her a warm cup and they ate and drank in a companionable silence.

As she was finishing, he pulled out the disposable cell phone and contacted Dembe. The exit plan was in place and he listened carefully to the instructions, thanked his friend at the end of the call, then opened the door and crushed the cell phone under his boot, kicking the pieces in different directions. He closed the door and looked at her frankly.

"Well, I have more information and it's about what I anticipated. Absolutely _everyone _is looking for you, Lizzie. Your people, my people, other people, and then some other _other _people. I've nearly lost track. There were some issues with your people, an attack of some sort," he touched her arm absently, as was his way with her, "Don't fret, everyone's fine, however chaos has descended like a vulture. The scrambling, the loss of their imaginary control... My God, it is _immensely_ entertaining to observe at times. Other times, not so much." He let out one of his soft barks of laughter, glanced at her, and noted her deeply serious expression.

"I've digressed," he agreed, "to continue, the source is unknown as yet, but all the excitement coincided with your departure."

"But I'm not working, I just flew here to meet with Professor Weisman at Leipzig University."

"The communist profiler?" Red looked startled.

"He was at Quantico in my final year. I corresponded with him a few times since and we agreed to meet at his office today but his office simply wasn't there."

"What do you mean, not there? Please explain."

"The directions were wrong, or the office number. It was just a study room for students."

"Well, that is just fifty shades of odd, Lizzie. Weisman is with_ your_ people. Now. He arrived Tuesday last according to dear Donald. Positively _intriguing_ bit of information, don't you think?"

Pausing thoughtfully, she looked at him squarely, a playful smile on her face, "Yes, it is _intriguing._ Did you _read_ that book?"

He put his hand to his heart, "I _swear_ to you, Lizzie, it _sucked _me right in. I could _not_ help myself. It was _absolute trash_."

"So you hated it?"

He laughed out loud, "Are you kidding? _I adored _it_. _Didn't you?"

"I haven't read them."

"Oh, what a shame. Would you like me to entertain you with some of the more sordid details?"

"If we could get back to the Post Office and Weisman?"

"Oh, right. _That._ Well, now we have the events of today. Odd happenings, wouldn't you say? You're being set up for something, my dear. I don't know what yet, but it will become clear soon enough. I'd like to get you back home as quickly as possible. The general idea seems to be that you are to be found in Prague."

"I _was_ in Prague." She confirmed.

"Without me? Then you missed _all_ the best of it. Really, Lizzie, I must insist you refrain from further international travels without me."

"How did you find me?" He started the car and shifted into gear, pulling out into traffic.

"I can't _bear it_. I'm picturing you right now, at that _godawful_ Marriott in Prague, and it just makes my skin _crawl_. Not you, sweetheart, the _hotel_. If you want to have a good time it means getting off the beaten path. Hostels before hotels, remember that."

"How did you find me?" she persisted.

"No more foreign countries without me. Promise me_ that_, Lizzie."

"Red, if everyone is looking for me, how is it that you found me?"

"Oh, Lizzie,_ please_," he eyes quickly locked onto hers, "I've told you this. I will _always_ find you."

She paused a moment, looking him over carefully. "So I'm in danger?"

"No," he laughed, "you're with me."


	4. Chapter 4 - Crowne Plaza, Hannover

**CHAPTER 4**

It was after dark when they pulled up to the Crowne Plaza Hotel, Hannover. She glanced from the hotel and back to him, astonished by their location, assuming they had been headed to some out of the way place that he always seemed to have at his disposal. With a wink, he handed her a passport and she looked down curiously and opened it, doubly astonished to see her face on an British passport giving her name as Sara Elizabeth Holcomb. Liz turned to protest but he had retrieved his small backpack and was already out of the car, the valet approaching him.

Red walked around the car and opened the passenger door for her, leaning down and looking in at her expectantly, giving her a curt nod in the direction of the hotel. Turning casually, he spoke a few words of fluent German to the valet, and then, with her now out of the car, he placed a guiding hand at the small of her back as they walked inside. And she noticed the touch, she _always _noticed his touch.

The hotel was impressive to say the least. He guided her expertly through the lobby, noticing the admiring glances in her direction. How amusing, he thought, that she was utterly unaware of her beauty and the attentions it brought. Her eyes were on the hotel, not seeming to notice a single eye on her, of which there were plenty.

"Lizzie, really, you mustn't gawk."

"It's beautiful, Red. Maybe you should try to see it from my viewpoint. I've not had the pleasure of such places as you have."

"Point taken. However, just because you haven't, doesn't mean you shouldn't. You belong here as much as you do in the coffee shop down your street. Now, take my arm, look tired, and hand me the correct passport when I ask for it."

She nodded her consent, slipping her arm through his as they approached the front reception.

Transitioning once more into fluent German, he checked into their reservation. The attendant greeted her as well and she smiled, then leaned into Red with a yawn and nestled against his shoulder, playing the part assigned to her effortlessly. Besides, he had that wonderful smell to him, and he _felt_ warm. His hand reached towards her inner blazer pocket, the gesture indicating an intimate, comfortable couple; and she slipped out her passport and passed it to him without a word. A few moments later, he handed the passport back to her and turned to the concierge waiting to lead them to their suite.

"Shall we, my dear?"

Once the concierge removed himself from the suite, she took in their surroundings, finding it positively decadent compared to her previous lodgings. She noted that there was but one bed, though large and roomy, and she avoided looking at him for the moment, feeling flustered. The thought of sharing a bed with him, even for sleep, gave her the feeling of butterflies in the stomach. _Knock it off, Liz,_ she thought to herself.

It was just after six in the evening and Red felt bruised, sore and tired. He busied himself with his bag, preparing clothing for the laundry service.

"If you have any garments to send out for cleaning and pressing, Lizzie," he suggested absently as he checked the small refrigerator and removed a bottle of Pellegrino water, pouring it into a glass and drinking from it. He called down on the room telephone, arranging reservations for dinner at nine in the hotel restaurant. She'd enjoy it, he thought, as long as she refrained from ordering American cuisine.

"Perhaps you'll try some more local cuisine at dinner?"

It was then that he finally paused and glanced at her, seeing her still standing there, staring at the solitary bed. He watched her for a moment, trying to imagine what thoughts must be on her mind.

"Oh, come now, Lizzie. There's a sofa bed, equally as comfortable," he remarked as he pulled off his overcoat.

She turned to him, "Oh no, it's not that. I mean, I'm fine. I-" She stopped, at a loss for words.

Without taking his eyes off of her, he tossed his overcoat on the sofa and stepped towards her, head cocked to one side, studying her, until he stood with his body inches from hers; a challenging move directly into her personal space. Her eyes widened at the intrusion, further flustering her ability to find words. She struggled further and he simply watched, his arrogant smile spreading slowly over his lips.

"Cat got your tongue? Out with it, sweetheart. I don't have all night."

Their eyes remained locked and finally, after a long moment, he tilted his head to the other side; his jaw working back and forth as if about to say something of importance but he remained silent instead. The smile played on his lips, his eyes expectantly waiting for her to speak.

His eyebrows lifted, "No? Nothing to say after all?" He turned away from her, laughing softly, and stepped towards the closet, slipping off his suit jacket. She remained completely tongue tied until the moment he turned back around.

"Red! You're bleeding," she said as she quickly crossed the short distance to him. He glanced down and noticed the blood on his left side.

"Oh, damn, and a new shirt, too. Would you look at that?" he said with a touch of exasperation.

"You're hurt, what happened?" Her fingers were already tugging out the shirt, unbuttoning from the bottom of up and he took a step away to shake her off but she matched his step. He chuckled mischievously.

"Lizzie, my dearest, I really do prefer to be _kissed_ first, then groped. Do you know _nothing _of foreplay?"

She continued to tug his tucked-in shirt out from his jeans and he shrugged, "Unless you'd like to start unbuttoning me from lower down. Here," he reached for his belt buckle, "I'm happy to assist-"

"Red!" She slapped his hand away without a trace of amusement and he ceased his mischief; her concern for his well-being touching. She angled him back towards the bathroom and she walked him backwards into the bathroom, guiding him to the sink. Inside the bathroom, she finished pulling out his dress shirt and gave a gasp. He looked down at the wound and shook his head; now disappointed that he had concerned her to such a degree.

"Lizzie, please, no gasping. It's minor. A broken stitch, nothing more."

"You have _stitches_? When did this happen?"

"Last night. I believe I mentioned earlier today what a difficult woman you are to locate. It wasn't without its hazards."

"I would think you could have mentioned _this_," she looked at him, almost with anger, he noticed, as she instructed him firmly, "wash that thoroughly right now. I'll get your bag."

He nodded his assent and began to remove his tie, then finished unbuttoning his dress shirt up to the collar as she returned. With an almost imperceptible wince of pain, he pressed a warm, wet washcloth to his side.

"Stop," she ordered, motioning to the side of the bathtub, "sit." He obeyed her and she moved to remove his dress shirt but he clasped her hand briefly, shaking his head in the negative.

"Leave it."

She let the curious gesture pass as she made a pitiful sound in the back of her throat, seeing the large bruise along his ribs, joined now by an assortment of other bruises from the crowd hitting against him. It wasn't just that, however, but the assortment of various scars that made clear the pains he'd undergone thus far in his life. One particular scar troubled her immediately as she'd seen a similar scar on a torture victim in the past; a rare thing as most did not survive.

Doing her best to conceal her recognition, she ran her hands along his ribs, expertly searching for any serious injuries. He started at her touch, her fingers cold against his skin. Inwardly, she smiled at his flinch, yet enjoyed the feel of his skin; pale and smooth, warm beneath her fingers. He clearly cared for himself well; his body had the litheness of an athlete, similar to that of a swimmer; clearly defined muscles but not overly so; a fluidness to his form that explained his natural agility.

She took the washcloth from him and ran hot water over it, wringing it out and crouching down in front of him, carefully wiping dried blood from the wound. His fondness for rich food showed in a slightly softer stomach, but he made no movements to sit up straighter, no indications of the vanity a younger man might show in her presence. Lizzie had a million thoughts swimming around in her mind about him; it was electric being in such close proximity to him. He was hurt, he was tired, he was vulnerable. Quite possibly, only to her.

"Lizzie, did you hear me? It's not necessary to baby me. I've handled far worse on my own."

She held up a hand, not even sparing him a glance, and said simply, "Quiet."

When she finished cleaning the wound, she inspected the stitches, then moved her fingers to the ribs, saying, "Tell me when it hurts."

He remained silent, despite the painful probing she did, until she finally pressed in quite hard and he responded with an emotionless, "Ouch."

"Finally," she remarked, "apparently you feel pain after all. No fractures, not that I can feel. But these stitches need to be replaced."

"I'll take care of it."

"Not while I'm here. Not a chance, mister. Grab a towel and follow me."

"Well, now that _is_ bossy."

"_Now_."


	5. Chapter 5 - Crowne Plaza Suite

**CHAPTER 5**

Red followed her deferentially out of the bathroom, obeying her pointed gestures and laying down on the bed with a towel under his side, feeling oddly exposed in front of her. He shrugged it off as he appreciated the comfort of the luxurious mattress underneath his bruised body, suddenly feeling extremely tired.

He watched her as she sat down at his side, setting to the work before her; carefully removing the torn stitches, cleaning the wound with hot water soapy water from an ice bucket, then rinsing him cleanly.

Antiseptic in hand, she eyed him, "This may hurt." He motioned for her to proceed and sucked in his breath as she poured, exhaling through gritted teeth as the sting subsided. He was content to simply lie still and watch her, entranced, occasionally closing his eyes, but more often watching her at work on his side. Her eyes focused attentively as she began to stitch, the concentration wrinkle between her eyebrows creased deeply. While the stitches weren't pleasant, he found that it did feel pleasant having her care for him as she was. Why did she affect him so at the most unexpected of moments?

From her viewpoint, she was quite taken aback to see the injuries he'd sustained without so much as a mention or complaint. It was in her nature to steady herself by taking action. His abdomen held a decent amount of scars, some definable as knife or even gunshot wounds, others undecipherable. She avoided the recognized scar, she didn't even want to think about the excruciating pain that would have caused him. Lizzie tried not to openly admire the look of him as he lay there on the bed, serenely surrendered to her; _trusting_ her.

Upon finishing her treatment of his injury, his hand caught hers unexpectedly, moving over to her wrist as he looked up at her, his eyes sincere and serious; silently conveying gratitude. With a nod, she reached past him for a pillow as her eyes happened to fall on the right side of his neck, noticing the scar_ she_ had left on him when she had stabbed him in his carotid artery. She pushed the thought from her mind with difficulty. None of this was lost to him, observing her as intently he was.

"You're going to need an antibiotic."

"In the black bag."

With a curious expression, she opened his toiletries bag and, sure enough, it contained a vial of penicillin with two small emergency needles. Her eyes flashed back to him, her expression stony.

"This hasn't been used." Her tone accusatory.

"No."

"Why didn't you use this?"

"I didn't know if..." he trailed off, catching that slightly angry expression again and finding himself, amazingly, quite at a loss for words. "I, well, you..."

"Out with it. I haven't got all night,_ sweetheart_." She mimicked him sarcastically from earlier, already suspecting the answer and finding herself irritated.

"Lizzie, I _am_ aware that you are more than capable of looking after yourself. However, based upon _my _experiences thus far on this trip, there existed the possibility, however remote-"

"That I may have needed it, so you didn't use it."

"Precisely so, yes."

She had prepped a needle with the antibiotic and now stuck it into his shoulder without warning, thumbing the plunger quickly.

"Ouch!" With emotion, this time, and she was satisfied.

Lizzie moved to stand up but his hand was on her arm in a flash, pulling her back down as he sat up in one swift movement; a movement she wouldn't have thought he was capable of with his injuries. His face was inches from hers, his eyes locked onto hers.

"_Your _well being and safety, _that's_ my priority. I would think this would be _crystal clear_ at this point. Is there some reason, something that has eluded me, that is causing you to imagine otherwise? Because, please, _do tell me_ if this is the case so that I may correct it at once." She didn't answer him, averting her eyes.

With his hand to her chin, he raised her face, insisting on eye contact, "You were trying to decipher my assorted scars earlier, Lizzie. Listen to me carefully, dear. I can tell you the origin of each and every one. Additionally, I can tell you the consequences meted out in return for each."

Lizzie desperately wanted to extricate herself from this suddenly intense encounter, sensing she was in dangerous territory with him. This was suddenly not the Red that had a soft, special smile reserved just for her; the Red that took care of her, who was both the seen and unseen protector at work in her life. This was Raymond Reddington now; the criminal with the dangerous monster barely concealed within, a monster capable of terrible things without any apparent remorse.

Speaking in a soft but cautionary tone, he continued, "There is only one scar that should concern you," he lifted her right hand, her scarred hand and she immediately pulled back but he held fast, unyielding in his gaze as he stroked her scar under his thumb. Suddenly, he lifted her hand, pressing it firmly against the right side of his neck; holding her fierce scar against the scar inflicted on him, by her, in a fit of both rage and helplessness. Her scar tingled against his, feeling at once too close, far too intimate, and also strangely... _erotic_. It was just too much and, unable to breath, she tried to move her hand away but his grip held firm, allowing her no reprieve.

_That night_, she dreaded the memory. She had burst into his hotel room, demanding answers from him and he had remained maddeningly composed, infuriating her further while her husband had lain in a coma in the hospital, courtesy of Red's first 'Blacklister'. "_Calm down, tell me what happened," _he had ordered her that night, dropping his crossword puzzle and pen down on his dinner table nonchalantly; and she had completely lost control. And yet, she secretly knew, and _he knew,_ she hadn't lost control, not completely. She had seen that pen and knew what she was going to do before her hand had ever reached it. She had calculated the move, she wanted answers and an unpredictable move was the only one that would illicit the response she sought. And yet, with him, it hadn't worked but failed completely. He had remained unruffled throughout, his blood flowing out of him, his consciousness fluttering precariously, and yet his only reply had been to cast doubt upon her husband. In fact, he had given her a crucial piece of information in that moment, his first warning of the truths that would later follow. He had adapted _that_ quickly.

And he; how often he had stared at that scar in the mirror, just high enough to disturb the perfect line of a well- tailored shirt collar. At first, he despised the scar, and yet, he had simultaneously cherished the scar. He had very nearly lost his temper several times; his eye catching on the imperfection in a random mirror somewhere and he would find himself riveted, staring at his own neck, and subsequently fighting with himself to regain his inner composure. He would do _anything_ to keep her alive, and yet she had so carelessly and blatantly endangered his own life. His real source of anger being that, without him alive, there was no one to perform the task in his place. He hadn't had to resort to conscientious meditation techniques for years, not until introducing himself to the very real Elizabeth Keen. The scar, the memory of the act, had been filled with both rage and an intimacy that had surprised him. Even _he_ had underestimated her; the thought of which caused him to both grimace and to laugh smugly, feeling a certain pride in her. She had it, too. Not from a family line, not from an inherited trait, but it was there just as his was; the **_fire in the blood._**

Gradually, she felt the contour of his scar under hers and she moved her hand tenderly, exploring; her fingers felt the raised scar, then the smoothness of it, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod of acquiescence. He dropped his hand; hers now remaining, gentle fingers now tracing the outline of the scar, exploring it as she'd wanted to do so many, _many _times. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes on his neck now, and he responded by turning his head to the side, exposing his neck completely to her. Liz became acutely aware now, not just of the scar, but of his openness to her. She brushed her scar over his and felt her breath catch in her throat as his eyes fluttered shut.

She suddenly wanted to taste the skin of his neck, place her mouth there and feel the scar beneath her tongue. The closeness of the moment was charged with electricity; with both danger and warmth. The nearness of him was exhilarating, the smell of him like a mixture of fine linen, cigars, and the faint aroma of sandalwood. Distinctive, warm, smooth, and immensely intoxicating.

Eventually, his hand returned to hers, breaking the touch, as if to say, '_That's enough." _ He turned his head back, his eyes no longer hard, the connection between them having grown exceptionally strong in the moment. His lips parted to speak and he met her eyes honestly.

"You have never been in danger of facing consequences for that, Lizzie," he said softly, "and you never will."

Her eyes focused on his lips, still hearing the vibration of his voice tickling her ears. She liked the sound of her name on his voice. She imagined closing the distance, placing her lips against his, feeling his response to her. What would_ his_ response be?

"I was angry." She said, absently, without thinking of her words.

"No. You were on _fire_," he took her hand again, turning it over, and pressed his thumb over her scar and against a prominent blue vein on her wrist, "here." She swallowed hard, then nodded, looking with both confusion and alarm into his steady gaze.

"How do you know about that?" She asked breathlessly.

"It's not important." He released her wrist and leaned back slightly, placing some distance between them.

"It's important _to me_."

He smiled his warning smile, cautioning her, "Take care that you truly want the answers to your questions."

"I want the answer. How do you know?_ Tell me."_

"Really, Lizzie, this is quite backwards. Where are the negotiations that typically precede these transactions? You make some sort of stipulation so that I will provide an answer to a question of your choice."

"Fine, ask me a question. I'll answer."

"I don't have any questions for you, my dear," he chuckled, then raised an eyebrow as he continued, "I'd be willing to exchange _my _answer for an _action_ on your part."

"What is it you want me to do?"

"Your rules, as you made them, dear. I'm not privy to the question beforehand." He let the implication hang in the air. A risk with him, true, but her decision nonetheless.

It would be wiser to let it go, she knew. He was too unpredictable, but then she recalled of the smoothness of his scar, his thumb pressed to her wrist. And then, remembering her awareness of that pen as a weapon even as she shouted at him for answers, formulating her plan while being both aware and unaware of what she was doing. She hadn't wanted to acknowledge that part of herself and yet she was confronted with it time and again, always surprising her after the fact. In all her time of studying profiling, she had yet to discover an answer to this lasting question about herself. She had never spoken of it, not once to any other living soul.

"How do I know we're referring to the same thing?" She probed, somehow hoping for a misunderstanding.

He leveled her with a frank look, "Oh, I think _you know_ we are."

"I didn't plan to-"

"Lizzie, dear, do we have a deal?"

"Yes, we have a deal."

"Spell it out for me then. Ask your question."

"How do you know about..." she swallowed hard, "_that _part of me?"

Considering her carefully, he also began carefully, "Allow me to begin with some clarification, to be certain I'm addressing this... _inquiry_... to your satisfaction. Your fondness for hotel rooms and pens in people's necks... well, I like to think I was your _first_, Lizzie. You were angry and emotional, you certainly didn't _appear_ to be behaving reasonably. And yet, you planned it nonetheless; on the fly. We both know that, don't we?"

"Yes, we do." She agreed, eyebrows raised, her attention riveted. Was she about to finally get a clue about this part of herself that haunted her so?

"Very well, as long as we're on the same page here, I simply must tell you, I was absolutely _fascinated _by you, my dear. I didn't realize it until I sat there, holding your hand to my neck with that damn pen-."

"You didn't realize what?"

"Don't interrupt. It became clear to me that you _planned _an unpredictable move. And you did so most admirably, too. In the midst of rage and helplessness, you, my dear Lizzie, had the presence of mind to_ plan,_ and to do so quite precisely. It was both cunning and wholly unpredictable. If it hadn't been _my _carotid artery, I would have approved of the move wholeheartedly. Without question, it would been effective on almost _anyone_ else."

"But not on _you_."

He laughed, shaking his head at her, "Of course not." His amusement began to touch on her anger.

"It wasn't the first time that I... had a moment like that."

He returned to closer proximity with her, "No, it wasn't. You've been having this experience for as long as you can remember. It frightens you, Lizzie, doesn't it?"

"Very much."

"A candid reply. I can only say that it shouldn't frighten you. It is uniquely you, after all. You're in control of it, not the other way around. I know you wish to understand yourself, and perhaps this part _most _of all. Perhaps it's just there, have you thought of that? A tool at your disposal, nothing more. After all, does it not give you a confidence you wouldn't otherwise possess? You're able to turn complicated situations to your advantage, and _that _is an invaluable asset." He turned her hand over in his again, stroking her scar.

"I've never told you," she whispered.

He laughed softly again, "No, of course you haven't. You didn't even tell Sam, and he was the only other one whom you _could _have told."

"Then how _do _you know about it?"

"How could I not?" he chuckled, "You use it for the FBI. Me, I have more... nefarious purposes."

His face already inches from hers, he moved in closer still; leaning in he whispered into her ear, challenging her, "But tell me, Lizzie, does it help you, using it in your work? Does it make you feel better about yourself? Less like you have a _criminal_ element inside of you?"

She leaned back, looking at him, flaring with anger now.

"So I inherited it?," she shot back.

Another one of his maddening chuckles. "How on earth would_ I_ know? I only _recognized _it for what it was."

"But if we have the same trait, you and I both..."

His expression darkened dangerously fast.

"Look at me," he ordered, now clearly agitated, taking her chin in his hand sternly to ensure eye contact, "and pay _very close_ attention this time. I am not accustomed to repeating myself. We are not related in the familial sense of the word. Is that clear?"

She locked her eyes onto his without wavering, "No, it's not clear. Not at all. How do you know so much about me? Tell me that," she challenged him, "I understand that you have the access to find out almost anything. But me? I'm just an obscure girl from the Midwest with an iffy past. Yes, I joined the FBI, along with _thousands_ of others. I'm a drop in the bucket, a small fish in an enormous pond. No mystery there. But my life, my past, the details, _you_ seem to know _all _of it. You've told me you know more about me than I do. Only a relation would-"

And he kissed her, hard and forceful; insistently parting her lips under the force of his; his hand gripping along the line of her neck, pulling her into the rough kiss harder, crushing their lips together. His tongue was warm and consuming, not flicking or teasing but fully meeting hers without artifice, with an unrestrained sensuality that allowed neither of them the least room to hide. His kiss made no attempt to hide his passion for her. His lips were wholly a part of his kiss, both soft and demanding; his mouth hungrily devouring hers. She met his kiss completely, a shared, naked hunger quickly infusing a desperate wildness into their kiss. The individual secrecy of their concealed desires now being bared to one another; their shared desire now discovered and escalating urgently, reaching for more... he gripped her upper arm, attempting to cease the kiss, but unable to break away completely as her lips responded enticingly against his. His hand moved to her cheek, stroking his thumb along her jaw line as he closed his lips against hers, still kissing her, softly now, pulling away from each other slowly.

They sat there together with no words, forehead against forehead, breathing heavily. After a time, breathing relaxed, he kissed her hair, lingering.

"You need to rest," she finally said; a quiet, almost lover-like whisper, "I'll wake you at eight."

He nodded as he eased himself back; fast asleep within moments.


	6. Chapter 6 - Schweizerhof Bistro, Dinner

**CHAPTER 6**

She spoke his name aloud, waking him at eight as requested. He blinked heavily; having slept deeply. She had pulled a blanket over him at some point and a small smile passed over his lips at the gesture as he propped himself up on one elbow; glancing across the room at her.

"You look rested," she remarked, glancing at him.

He nodded, rising from the bed with a yawn, "Is it a bit chilly in here or is it me?"

"I turned the heat up just a few moments ago," she replied, leaning into a mirror, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she continued, "I did send out clothes for cleaning. Your suit should be back from being pressed any time now."

"The navy?"

She shook her head, "Taupe. The others needed cleaning. Your things are in the bathroom."

"Well, that was very efficient . Thank you."

"Well, if anyone hates a wrinkled suit..." she let the sentence drop off and he chuckled softly as he stepped into the bathroom.

"Don't get the bandage wet," she called out after him.

Twenty minutes later, as he finished shaving, she knocked on the door and slipped a hangar of clothing in through a crack of the door.

He emerged in trousers and a dress shirt that remained unbuttoned for the moment, and began to proceed with his usual meticulous and well-ordered ritual of dressing. She sat in the desk chair, thumbing through a newspaper, as he buttoned his shirt and situated his tie around his collar, his fingers tying a Windsor knot as his eyes strayed back in the mirror to see her watching him.

"I take it the reading doesn't interest you then," he remarked playfully.

"It is more interesting watching you."

"Me?" His eyebrow shot up sardonically along with a smug smile, "Is it really so fascinating to watch a handsome man dress? I should think it would be more interesting to watch the reverse." She ignored the innuendo.

"You have a ritual."

A nod of confirmation, "I do indeed. It may surprise you to know this, Lizzie dear, but I haven't always had the luxury. Twenty years off the map has had its ups and downs, as I'm sure you can imagine."

He turned to her, buttoning his lapel vest up, "Excuse me for not mentioning it previously, but you look absolutely breathtaking. Stunning, Lizzie."

"Thank you," she smiled and nodded gratefully.

He turned back to the mirror, his eyes flickering over the line of tie and collar, "I do love a woman that can take a compliment. So much self deprecation these days. It's so droll." He pulled on his suit jacket and she stood.

"And you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Oh, I'm anything but droll. And self-deprecation," he chuckled, "God no, it doesn't suit me. No one would believe a word of it. I mean, _look_ at me."

She laughed and he smiled with open admiration, "You're beautiful, Lizzie. That dress, was it in your luggage?"

She nodded. "Ready?"

He opened the door for her, "Yes, I'm famished. Stay close to me, Lizzie. I can't have anyone stealing you away from me, not looking like that. I would never recover."

She laughed, slipping her arm into his offered one, "I'm sure you'd be just fine."

"Hardly, my dear. You underestimate yourself," he paused a beat and then reiterated, "in your luggage. Really? Impressive."

* * *

The hotel restaurant, Schweizerhof Bistro, was pleasantly decorated in natural colors, light beech wood on the floors and bar, dark greens on the walls, the lighting low and the atmosphere rich and relaxed. They were greeted almost immediately with a courteous host and Red leaned into her, "Would you prefer having a drink at the bar first, or straight to a table?"

"Either is fine with me."

"Well, let's enjoy ourselves at the bar first then." He replied to the host, placing a guiding hand lightly on her back as they were shown across the room. The host slid out a chair for her, and Red placed himself at a corner to her, seated as they were at the end of the counter.

His fingers touched to her arm and ran softly along her skin to get her attention, and it did. It was electrifying.

He smiled when her eyes fell on him, "Lizzie, I'm in the mood for a good wine tonight, unless you would prefer that I order a new experience for you?"

She noticed his eyes were energetic and bright, intensely focused on her. He was enjoying himself, and her company.

"Like another taste of spring?" she smiled, referring to the first drink he had ordered for her, "I'd actually prefer a glass of wine, Red."

He conversed briefly with the bartender, settling on a four year bottle of C. Moreau Chablis Valmus and turned to her, his hand went back to her arm as he leaned in closer for a whisper.

"Lizzie, I neglected to mention, the name on my passport is Raymond Holcomb."

"There's no way to get 'Red' out of that, is there, Raymond?"

A flash of a smile passed between them as their wine arrived. They sat in silence for some time after the arrival of their wine, each enjoying their glass.

"Tell me, what do you taste in it?"

"Definitely _grapes_."

He laughed out loud, a genuine laugh, and she instantly felt completely at ease.

"Very amusing. Try again," he coaxed her, "close your eyes."

With a shrug, she closed her eyes briefly as she took another sip.

"I'm not well versed in wines, Re... Raymond. It's... fruity?" That laugh of hers again.

"That's good," his eyes smiled encouragingly, "but I think you may be guessing. Have another sip, take your time, we're in no hurry. See if you can name a fruit."

He glanced around the bar and restaurant casually, and she found his relaxed air, his sense of savoring the present moment, pleasantly contagious. She breathed in and out deeply, allowing herself the same ease, and sipped her wine.

Red gestured to her after a moment, "Isn't that a sweet couple there?" She followed his gesture to a senior couple, holding hands across their table.

"I wasn't aware you noticed such things. Yes, they're very sweet. Raspberry?"

He laughed again, that genuine laugh, "I have a natural appreciation for the simple things in life. And not the slightest hint of it, my dear. Keep in mind the _color _of the wine. Also, if that's your best assessment, we'll just switch you to cheap vodka and I'll finish the bottle myself."

She reached over to his closest hand and entwined her fingers with his. He looked down at their hands, pleasant surprise showing on his expression.

"We're supposed to be a couple, was I wrong about that?" she inquired.

He blinked, "You're quite right, yes. I can't imagine how I've failed to take advantage of that," he replied, his fingers closing around hers warmly.

"Apple, honeydew?"

"Very good, yes. It's a little intense, a stony finish, and I'm tasting a glint of spicy oak as well as a lemon and oyster flavor."

"Lemon, I wanted to say that!" she smiled brightly with lips and eyes both.

"Appears they're ready for us," he motioned to the restaurant dining area as he moved off his chair, pulling out her chair for her and folding her arm into his as they went to a table for their meal.

They settled in as their bottle of wine was delivered to their table, and he spoke briefly to their waiter when he arrived, pausing to glance at her, "I'll do the ordering if you don't mind, sweetheart." At her nod, he continued speaking with the waiter and then turned attentively to her.

"Tell me about Prague," he said, "I'm interested to know what you noticed there."

"I didn't notice anything suspicious."

"No, no, not that. I mean, what did _you _see? What did you like, what didn't you like? I'd like to hear about your travel adventures."

"You do?"

"Of course. You can leave out the bits about the Marriott, if you don't mind." A shared smile passed between them. And time flew past as they enjoyed the company of each other.

Together, they shared a leisurely and tasty meal; she enjoyed a wonderfully light Monkfish with a creamy Tzatziki sauce with Cucumber. He savored a dish of Quail in a country-themed entree. He insisted on Kalter Hund for dessert; a chocolate biscuit filled with pieces of salted caramel, covered with a vanilla sauce.

His manners were impeccable and yet, again, she could easily envision him in an out-of-the-way noodle shop with his shirt sleeves rolled up, eating from cartons with chopsticks and drinking saki. She wondered how long he would be in her life, how long until this, whatever _this_ was, was over. Until he ran out of names on the blacklist? Until he tired of her? Until his enterprises, or perhaps just his interest, took him elsewhere? Away from her? Or was she to believe him, that he would always, in some way, be watching after her?

She felt his warm hand close around hers and her eyes found his as he leaned over the table, "Lizzie, darling, you are extremely far away at the moment."

"I was just thinking," she smiled.

"Now that," he squeezed her hand, "was a forced smile if ever I've seen one. Come back to me, Lizzie. Tell me what's on your mind."

"It's not important. Nothing, really."

He studied her carefully for a moment, taking a sip of wine as he did so, her eyes still on his. And then, miraculously, he said exactly what she needed to hear.

"I'm not going anywhere, Lizzie. I'm with you. You need never wonder about that." Her face registered her surprise, as if he'd known exactly what she was thinking.

"It's not set in stone."

"It is for me," he replied, matter-of-factly.

"How can you just say that?"

"Lizzie, I see the losses in your life. Aside from Sam, the people in your life have been anything but, well, I don't need to go on. It's quite natural for you to doubt."

"You think it's just a doubt?"

He considered her thoughtfully, but instead of leaning back and distancing himself, he leaned forward to her and spoke softly, "Tell me what is then. Tell me everything."

She smiled before replying, "can you believe it's after midnight?"

"And I enjoyed every moment."

He reached for her wrist and glanced at her watch as they waited for the elevator; an uneasy, uncertain silence settling over them. Once in the elevator, they stood awkwardly together, looking forward at the closed doors.

"Also, I meant to mention, Lizzie, about earlier-," he stopped mid-sentence, sensing her sudden increase in tension, and glanced at her, "My goodness, why so alarmed?"

"I don't really know how to address that. Can we just not..." her words trailed off.

"I merely wished to express my gratitude for the care you took of me earlier. I appreciate you. I do hope you know that." She nodded, remaining tense as a coil.

A moment passed, as he watched her, before he pressed the stop button on the elevator, turning to her. She backed away; he closed the distance.

"You don't need to be afraid of me, Lizzie."

She looked down, away from him, and he shook his head, his expression pained, "Please don't do that, please don't look away. Tell me what is troubling you. Do your worst, Lizzie, I'm not going away."

She made a gesture between them, "It's _this_ I'm afraid of."

His eyebrow went up, understanding now what she meant. Finding no immediate response, he eventually, re-engaged the elevator, returning them to their shared room, though when they exited the elevator, he firmly wrapped her arm into his.


	7. Chapter 7 - Moving On In Their Journey

**CHAPTER 7**

She opened her eyes from a restful night of sleep and, to her complete surprise, found herself looking directly into the open eyes of Raymond Reddington. He gave her a smile but said nothing, observing her contentedly. On her part, she felt completely rested and rejuvenated, as well as physically warm. It felt good to feel warm.

"Good morning, Red."

His eyes crinkled into more of a smile, "Good morning, Lizzie."

"You had a nightmare." Her tone was soft in the quiet of the room.

He paused a moment, nodding. "It happens from time to time."

Liz was recalling the very early morning hours; the strangled emotion in unintelligible words waking her from across the room. She had approached him cautiously and it had taken some time to wake him, though even then it had first been with a start, followed by a blank stare at her; seemingly unable to shake himself clear of whatever visions haunted him. The pain etched on his expression had been difficult to witness and, even more so, to note his trembling hands and the tears escaping from his tightly shut eyes.

Red had reached out to her and pulled her down to the bed completely and, much to her surprise in the moment, had wrapped himself around her and asked her hoarsely to stay, just for a few minutes. She had stayed far longer, having fallen asleep next to him.

"Did you rest at all?"

He brightened, "Yes, surprisingly well."

"What's on the agenda today?"

"Well, we have two choices," he said as he sighed and rolled onto his back, turning his head to continue facing her, "we can stay here for another day, take in some sights you may not otherwise see. Or, it's a travel day."

"Where do we need to be?"

"Out of Germany, I would prefer France at this point. However, we are quite safe as we are, as the search for you is still quite frenzied for you in Prague."

"You don't think it's been figured out yet that I'm no longer there?"

"No. As far as a paper trail and alleged sighting are concerned, you are, in fact, very much in Prague."

She laughed, a musical morning laugh that he enjoyed immensely, one that he hadn't previously heard.

Red sat up and stretched, "All in a day's work but thank you for appreciating the effort. I could use some breakfast."

"But wait, where is 'elsewhere'?"

"Let's get down to breakfast, Lizzie. We have much to discuss and I simply cannot do so on an empty stomach."

In the hotel's outdoor breakfast cafe, the weather was perfect. The chill in the air had evaporated and an early spring was well on its way to the region. They sat closely together, enjoying a basic but hearty breakfast with eggs, fruit, toast, and juices, along with a cup of coffee for her and tea for him. They spoke with their heads closely together, in the private tones of a shared conspiracy, and he was delighted that she chose to take her present circumstances as an adventure rather than as a victim, which had plagued her for some time, and rightfully so.

He was acutely aware of the toll taken on her over the course of the previous months and, though he had no doubts as to her resilience and strength, he had seen the self-doubt etched on her face and it gave him an ache within to be a witness to her pain. She had been left nothing of her former life to hold fast to; unable even to ground herself in her work as she viewed herself as an ineffective profiler, having failed to recognize the imposter that had been posing as her husband. Perhaps most of all, it was the loss of the one person in whom she had wholly trusted; Sam. And, besides illness, on whose hands did Sam's death lie? His own.

Reflecting on her words the evening previous, he was aware that she was testing him, and she would continue to push him away even as she may wish to draw him into her inner circle. Apparently, time would have to be her healer. However, he was a most patient man when it concerned Lizzie. He had waited for such a very long time to introduce himself into her life, there was simply no going back for him now. His choices had been made and set into motion.

The snapping of her fingers brought him back to the moment and she chuckled, her eyes intently fixed on him, "Talk about being a million miles away. Talk about a sense of gravitas." She arched an eyebrow at him when he sipped his tea, and another smile flashed on her face.

"You know that's one of your tells, right?" She referred to his arched eyebrow.

"A tell, or just a mannerism?" He challenged with a smile.

"So you were saying about the transit time on the train to Dusseldorf?"

"Approximately three hours. We get a car and drive on to Dijon, another six hours."

"And hotel reservations?"

"I have an acquaintance there, we can use their lodgings."

"Is there any place that you do not have- nevermind. I don't want to know. Well, we'd better get going, don't you think? It's going to be a long day."

"You're going to adore Dijon, Lizzie. I'll tell you about it along the way." He tossed down a tip and escorted her back up to their room.

They managed to each shower, dress, and pack quickly, her with a minimum of discomfort in his presence; the move to action assisting her in putting aside her apprehensions from the night before, although she couldn't help but admire Red anew, from the eyes of a woman intrigued. She noticed the way his body moved, his absent touches, as if reassuring himself of her presence, and his attentiveness to her; even when shadowed with his occasional darkness. She couldn't help asking herself; who was he _really?_


End file.
